Thirty Whacks
by Demented Whispers
Summary: Songfic to Thrity Whacks by The Dresden Dolls. When it got worst, he would cut deeper. Dean tried to keep his pain a secret but what happens when John finds out? Story is way better then the summary, please read. Rated for cussing and self-harm and character death. Warnings are inside. Oh and Teen!Chester


A/N: Second Supernatural story! The song is Thirty Whacks by The Dresden Dolls, it is better if you listen to it while you read the story.

Disclaimer- I own nothing! I also edited the song a bit because it is really long and some of it didn't fit.

Warning- Character death, major mentions of self-harm, and it's just really sad.

_Thirty licks with a belt, same old tricks on myself. And I wonder, does everyone else live this way?_

Why? This was Dean's only thought. He was 14 and already felt like a father, because his was far more interested in revenge then his youngest son. What is a "normal" life like, how does everyone else live? Why does he half to be a hunter, Huh? Why can't Sammy have a normal life, why can't he? Why did Mom have to die?

Dean looked down at his wrist, blood flowing from two previous cuts. Setting the razor on his wrist he slid the cold metal from right to left, watching as the skin split, blood already leaking out. The green-eyed boy didn't make a sound, he taught himself to not scream or yelp when he cut. Sammy didn't need to know, ever.

_A succession of test, a triumphant success, each time I'm still intact, at the end of the day _

John didn't notice, wasn't around enough to see a change in his eldest son. Sammy, however questioned Dean. One night a couple months ago he made his older brother show him his wrist. The Winchester boy knew better though, and would cover up scars with concealer and newer cuts with latex. He would always look intact, at the end of every day.

_Thirty drops in the glass- keep my temper and pass, with my breath held you bastards you lucked out again, it's not really that bad, there's still mom there's still damage to do before the wrest the ax from my hands._

Mom, Mary Winchester, Sam was 10 and understood what death was, but wouldn't believe his Mom was dead. He would ask questions like "where is mom, Dean?" This would remind Dean of all the damage to do, before he can be normal, before he wouldn't half to take care of Sam, anymore.

_It's no mystery; you should obviously go, before I break everything. You're always telling me that you're dying to know, but you're not really listening. _

"Dean, I" Sam said softly to his older brother. Dean was on the floor, knees to his chest, green eyes clouded over, with pain and anger.

"No! Don't... don't come near me! Go away, I break everything I touch, I don't want to hurt you Sam!" Dean yelled. With that little Sammy walked out of the second floor bathroom of Bobby's house.

He knew. Dean forgot to lock the door, and Sam saw, he saw the blood on Dean's wrist and on the floor. It was no longer a secret. But Sam was smart enough to act like it never happened.

_How to I manage to station myself in harm's way, with no strength to argue my personal demons can scheme with professional care. Oh God, they're after me. If I could shut them up just for a second I swear, I could stop this catastrophe._

John gazed horrified at his oldest son, scars into the 100s on his arms, and more on his sides. He couldn't wrap his head around why he didn't notice earlier, why Sam had to tell him.

"Dean, you should have said something! You could of killed yourself and left Sam alone, you dumbass!" John shouted at his son, not understanding, he would just make it worst.

Dean didn't answer. Instead he turned away and walked out of the motel. He knew, Dean knew that if everyone would shut up and stop yelling, he could stop this.

_Thirty day guarantee, but they can't have meant me after all I was born to a childproof world no sharp corners or glass, small objects or plastic bags please, these are death to a delicate girl._

Dean didn't understand why John stared taking glass and small objects with him on hunts. It's was like he thought Dean would either cut or choke himself. Things that would be the death of a small child, was now John's greatest fear for Dean.

_Its mystery, you should know that I'll destroy everything. So don't go telling me that you're dying to know cause your get what you're asking for. Now all the demons are screaming there wages aren't fair, I've left a secret kept. If I could shut them up just for a second I swear… that it look like an accident._

Dean was done. John made him stay at Bobby's year round, so Bobby could watch over him. The green eyed teen had enough, of his father, of this damn life. He was tired, too tired. He ran to the bathroom after school, and locked the door. Slumped over knife in hand, he made a small cut along the high point of his arm. A single tear slipped from his jaw line to the floor. He couldn't be there for Sammy. He couldn't see him grow up; he let his little brother down, and his father. He wasn't the perfect son, never was and could never be. Dean brought the knife to his wrist and cut start along the major vein. While he bleeds out, the oldest Winchester ran his fingers on his right hand through the blood on his left wrist. Standing slowly he wrote on the mirror, "Am I perfect yet?"

Dean felt woozy and light headed; he put his back against the wall and fell to the ground. His arm fell beside the boy, blood poured from his wrist, staining the cold, white floor a deep scarlet, and waited to be found.

A/N: So yeah, that happened. Hope you guys liked it! Please review, flames welcome.


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